


afterthought

by Wicked_Seraph



Series: Aether Poisoning (Kinktober 2020) [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Consent Issues, Cunnilingus, F/M, Face-Fucking, Finger Sucking, Oral Sex, Unrequired Thancred/Ryne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:22:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26806552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wicked_Seraph/pseuds/Wicked_Seraph
Summary: The little tyrant had become too accustomed to demanding that he lie on his back and offer his ministrations to her ache on demand.Spoiled, this one was – yet not rotten, still shimmering with sweetness and virtue in spite of how eagerly she sups on corruption.
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Ryne | Minfilia
Series: Aether Poisoning (Kinktober 2020) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949692
Comments: 1
Kudos: 20





	afterthought

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the tags before proceeding. If a fic of this nature isn't your cup of tea, there is no shame in clicking the back button and finding one more suited for your tastes.
> 
> If this is the kind of blend you like, however? By all means, I hope you enjoy! ^^
> 
> Written for Day Three of Kinktober 2020: Face-Fucking.

“Ground.”

With not so much as a greeting, Ryne stormed in the room with all the fury and impertinence of one accustomed to having her tempers assuaged. Her body positively  _simmered_ with tension.

Emet-Selch, seated quite comfortably on her bed, was ill-inclined to move.

“I think not. Stone is terrible for your back, you know.”

The little tyrant had become too comfortable demanding that he lie on his back and offer his ministrations to her ache on demand; as delightful as it was, he drew the line at doing so when it meant sacrificing comfort.

At his refusal she hesitated, nibbling her lip in a way that was somehow infuriating yet charming. Spoiled, this one was – yet not rotten, still shimmering with sweetness and virtue in spite of how eagerly she sups on corruption.

“I—”

He could smell her agitation, heady and lush between those tender little thighs.

“If I might offer a suggestion? Why don’t  _you_ lie down – there’s plenty of room for two,” he offered, patting the space beside him with none of the implication that his words carried.

Ryne obeyed, her shyness seeming to increase with each ilm the gap between them closed. By the time she fully reclined, her legs had closed primly, fingers laced and hands resting in the dip of her pelvis.

It was almost sweet how easy it was to coax her to relax: a kiss much softer and slower than he’d like, her lips unpracticed but eager and all too keen to part, to let him learn the particulars of her tongue.

_“Unpracticed’ is inaccurate_ , he mused. She kissed like a girl who had naught but her own creativity and brief experimentation with a friend or unscrupulous bodyguard. She knew what to do in principle, but was clearly unfamiliar with how to respond to something that pleased her, whimpering and thrusting her tongue into his mouth desperately as if seeking guidance.

And guide he does, cradling her face gently — less out of affection than to shift her to the correct angle, kissing her deeper until she veritably  _melted_ and her thin arms wrapped around him. It took little more than a nudge of her legs before she unfurled like a flower beneath him.

Naïve though she was, there was something to be said about the way someone so young reacted to the smallest provocations. She demanded and he withheld, tracing the seam of her mouth when she wanted him to kiss her more fiercely. She recoiled and he drew her back in, stealing her breath until he pulled away and she gasped.

Ryne turned her head away, flushed to the tips of her ears, as Emet-Selch lowered himself between her legs, the scent of her arousal shattering any delusions of innocence.

“Ah, what have we here?” he drolled, hand sliding under her skirt and tracing the damp patch on her smallclothes.

“I c-called for you for a reason,” she stammered, letting out a small squeak and writhing helplessly as a finger circled the nub of her clit through the fabric.

“And have I ever left you wanting?”

She could feel the bed dip beneath her, could feel the warmth of his breath and the contrast of soft hair and calloused hands against the inside of her thighs — and the faintest, faintest pressure against her clit, dulled by damp fabric and cruel intent.

Her cheeks burned; he’d done this enough times to where she could immediately tell when he began using his mouth, and sure enough she felt his lips circle around her, just barely grazing the bare flesh not covered by her smallclothes.

There was something filthy about it, the way his finger wrapped around the fabric to move it side, poking his tongue beneath to taste her and humming his contentment all the while. That he enjoyed this at all never ceased to surprise her

She wondered if Thancred might like it, too, before casting the thought from her mind; he couldn’t even bring himself to look at her, to notice her the way she wanted him to. To wonder if he'd ever kiss or embrace her as a woman was to contemplate impossibilities.

Something in her demeanor must have betrayed her thoughts, because the feathery, entreating flicks of his tongue against her shifted. His hands easily covered her thighs, spreading them wider. She wasn't sure how to describe what was being done — sucking? licking? both yet neither? — but all the same her voice dissolved into soft, gasping moans, hands clenching the sheets and hips rolling into that strange, sweet pleasure before her modesty could protest. 

_Thancred would never do this for you,_ his mouth seemed to say, tasting her desire as his tongue teased at her entrance, dipping inside just enough to remind her of how much more she wanted.

“Such a greedy little thing, aren't you?” he whispered; she bit back a whimper as his question was rounded with a slow, languorous thrust of his tongue inside of her — not enough, never enough. She could feel the imprint of her own teeth as she licked her lips.

No rebuke in his tone, his words peppered with the precise tenor as when he coaxed her to fall apart — but at those times there was something harder and sweeter rocking into her. The memory of it made a moan warp her voice and heat bloom in her cunt.

“Gods, please —“

“Is something the matter?” he asked, his tone buoyant.

“Of course there is! Now  _please,_ let me… I…”

“Oh, dear. Has your bravery abandoned you so quickly?”’

Words escaped her; the slender fingers stroking in and around her wetness did little to dissipate the fogginess of her thoughts. As the silence stretched, so did the wicked grin on Emet-Selch’s lips.

“How sweet.” He brushed slick fingers against her lips, coaxing them to part. She opened her mouth obediently, blood rushing to her cheeks at the suggestive saltiness on her tongue. 

_Is… is that what I taste like?_

It was surprisingly inoffensive — almost pleasant, even. This wasn’t the first time that the Ascian had tasted her, but it was the first time she’d tasted herself. The world teetered on its axis, her thoughts whisked about her skull. There was something almost painful about such an awareness, a precise inversion of the difference between touching oneself versus drifting in the mystery of a foreign caress.

Her tongue traced around the curves and lines of his fingers, wrapping around them as though to chase the strange flavor — as though it were possible to know herself in doing so. Emet-Selch’s eyes widened — one of the first times he seemed genuinely surprised. He pressed his fingers further in, and Ryne’s cheeks hollowed as she laved at them, whimpering softly as her eyelids fluttered shut and she allowed her imagination to fill the gaps; the illusion was not lost on her.

“Oh, you precocious little nymph,” he breathed, thrusting deeper into her waiting mouth. “You take so beautifully. Avarice becomes you.”

Some hazy corner of her mind registered the backhanded compliment, electing to ignore it — to take the bait would shatter the illusion that this was Thancred in her mouth, that the dissipating salt on her tongue was his skin, his sweat. 

_Why pretend? You and he both know that Thancred’s but an afterthought. A salve for your guilt._

It had become a little too easy to be content without the veneer of fantasy; there was naught Emet-Selch wrought with his flesh that did not drive her mad with pleasure. To pretend was unnecessary when reality, as cruel as it was, lent itself to far greater delights.

_If avarice becomes me, I’ll wear it gladly._

“Sweet child, is there something else you might like?"

Ryne pulled back with a soft pop, a thin line of saliva connecting the Ascian’s fingers to her bruised lips. “Such as?

In lieu of wasted words, Emet-Selch brought one of her hands to something warm and undeniably hard beneath the fabric of his robes. Her mouth watered, a jolt of heat flaring between her legs. 

“O-Oh… oh yes,” she breathed, cursing herself for salivating at the thought like a bitch in heat. She stroked it gently — as though she hadn’t done so countless times before. “Will it even fit?”

“What a strange question,” he laughed, stroking her clit pointedly. “But I suppose there’s only one way to know for certain. On your knees, then — or is that not what you mean earlier by ‘ground’?”

_Touché._

Ryne shuffled off the bed and onto her knees, not certain how to feel at how perfectly level her mouth was with its intended target. Emet-Selch shifted his robes, a hand cupping the back of her head as the other guided his cock gently towards her lips.

Ordinarily he had to pry a girl’s jaw open and thrust crudely against her mouth, finding a way to make her sob — yanking on her hair, twisting her nipples — just to be granted an opening.

“What a good girl you are,” he crooned as the head of his cock met no such resistance, stroking her hair approvingly as her lips parted wider to accommodate him. Curious, she ran her tongue along his length, licking at the tip, earning a low growl and a shallow thrust into her mouth. “Just like that, very good.”

How peculiar, to try to mimic familiar pleasures with her mouth and tongue. There were things that a cunt could not do, and there was something delightful about being able to experiment with pressure and suction, to watch the small tells in his body language. She wondered if all men were like this, if Thancred would possibly be able to pull himself away if she wrapped her lips around his lust in just the same way.

_Of course he would_ , she thought bitterly.

Thancred would never let her do this. Thancred would only ever see her as a child, would only ever listen to the damnable ethics that made him deprive himself of something she  _knew_ he wanted. She’d learned how to suppress a shriek as she pressed herself against the wall separating their chambers, sharing his release to the sound of her name and countless curses on his lips —

“Ah ah, mind the teeth,” he chided gently, his grip around her head tightening. He’d begun thrusting deeper into her mouth, her eyes watering as the tip of his cock began grazing the edge of her soft palate. “Focus. Breathe through your nose.”

And so she did; it took every onze of her concentration to breathe around the intrusion and suppress the urge to gag as she swallowed, her mouth working around him. 

“Perfect, yes,” he moaned; she could tell his control was slipping. His thrusts grew harsher, sloppier — as though he were forgetting what was wrapped around his cock, pulling her closer to his body to drive further in.

There was something intoxicating about it, for something as seemingly inviolate as her mouth be used to wring the pleasure from him. The wet slap of his cock against her tender flesh was punctuated occasionally by a gasp or agonized moan as he offered only enough of a reprieve for her to breathe before fucking her mouth once more.

She knew that she should feel shame, debasement; there was nothing tender or affectionate in the ruthless snap of his hips and the crude salinity of his pending climax. There was something ugly and honest about it. 

The Ascian didn’t consider her a person — not in these moments where he’d crooned and seduced her into becoming little more than a cocksleeve, and not in those moments where her comrades plead for realms both near and far.

It was easier to focus instead on anything else: 

Her own slender fingers caressing and stroking, her clit throbbing from the shameless delight of it all, legs quaking as she felt her body edge closer to its peak.

His moans, feral — almost monstrous, still stoking the flames of her own passion.

His thrusts careless and painful, as though he’d forgotten that there was flesh and bone at his feet.

With a sharp gasp he spilled down her throat, uttering something unintelligible — the way he always did, in a tongue too slithering and ominous to be mortal. But always the same words, always the same knifelike reminder that even in those moments where she split open her rib cage, he’d sooner crush her heart than spare it a passing glance.


End file.
